


With All Due Respect

by Howling_Harpy



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Anal Fingering, Body Worship, Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Military Uniforms, Ordering Kink, Power Play, Sexual Tension, Undressing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-08 06:41:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21231461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Howling_Harpy/pseuds/Howling_Harpy
Summary: Only commands from Captain Speirs make Lipton’s blood run hot. He has a feeling that the captain knows.





	With All Due Respect

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt was "ordering kink + body worship". What a wonderful combination! Here we go, lassies.

It was the Champagne that was at fault, that’s what Lipton decided long afterwards when all was said and done. The reverend of his church and his mother had been right about alcohol, it was indeed the drink that made him careless and dissipated and led to other sins, but in the end Lipton couldn’t bring himself to mind any of it. 

It would have been a lie to blame the drink, though. It had all started earlier, and Lipton couldn’t exactly pinpoint when. 

Mourmelon, perhaps? In that miserable village of tents and endless practice drills and guard duty rotation and patrols, in the chilly and muddy February?

“Lieutenant Lipton, patrol orders to the NCOs of Easy. See them delivered and brief the men.”

“Lieutenant Lipton, inspect the roadblocks at eleven hundred hours. Report back to me.”

“Lieutenant Lipton, I’ve scheduled second platoon for an all-night field problem. I’ve appointed you to lead it.”

_Yes, sir. Yes, sir. Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. _

It seemed that Lipton said that a hundred times as slow, routine days rolled by, and more than winter frost melted from his limbs with them. 

Captain Speirs seemed to want to keep him close now that he had been promoted and trying his legs as an officer, and Lipton wondered if it was to show him the ropes or if it was the only thing he could think of now that he wasn’t First Sergeant anymore. Whatever the reason, Lipton was grateful as Speirs seemed to always have something to do and never let anything go to waste. 

It was also fascinating in a way, to get this close to “Bloody” Speirs, the man whose reputation preceded him among enlisted men and officers alike. Lipton hadn’t even thought about it at the time. He remembered Foy as a moment of despair, like being dangled over the edge of a cliff and slowly feeling his fingers giving out one by one, and then in a flurry of artillery and snow there had been Speirs, settings things to balance once again. 

Lipton had simply been happy to see him and followed him without a question. In that moment of despair on the edge of annihilation Speirs had been just a good soldier, a leader worth following, and Lipton had. 

But afterwards, after Noville and Rachamps and Haguenau, Lipton too had to admit that there was something singular about Speirs.

After all, he had met and served under several good officers, he had fought alongside many capable soldiers, but only orders from Speirs made him feel warm to his core. Only his harsh demanding voice made his heart beat faster, only obeying him made his blood run hot in his veins.

For the most part, Lipton preferred not to think about it. It felt like one of those things you had to shove back into the back of your mind and ignore in order to survive, but he couldn’t decide if ignoring it was easier or harder now that Easy was in reserve. On one hand, rush and combat had perhaps hidden it from his thoughts before, but on the other now that he had realized it he felt like the safe routine of Mourmelon was the only thing keeping it under control, and he feared what would happen when they’d have to leave it behind.

It was late March when Lipton was making his way out of the battalion mess after a long day of training replacements that were a worryingly large portion of Easy’s strength, when First Sergeant Talbert fell in step with him. 

“Hey, Lip! How’s it going, sir?” Talbert greeted him.

“It’s going,” Lipton replied, his mind still sketching a timetable for training passable combat soldiers of their re-enforcements before they’d move out while only half listening to Talbert. “How are things with you?”

“Well, that’s the thing,” Talbert said and awkwardly chuckled. “The men are great. Everything’s going well, we’ve been through our training and finally got our hands on good supplies too, I think Luz had something to do with that, and I’ve written this week’s report about it all…” 

It was all within the responsibilities of the First Sergeant and Lipton knew it well, as he knew that Talbert did too, and he wondered when the actual business would come in picture. It didn’t sound like your regular chatter, but if there was a question in there, Lipton couldn’t pick up on it. 

Talbert cleared his throat. “Well, I should go and submit that report to Captain Speirs.”

That was the key comment, and Lipton guessed that was it, only he wasn’t willing to be the one to say it. “Yes, that’s correct. The week report needs to be delivered to the company CO. Do you know where Captain Speirs’ tent is?”

“Yeah, I know,” Talbert said, a note of frustration in his tone, “and I have the report right here too.” He lifted a thin brown cardboard file that looked like it had exactly one sheet of paper inside. “It’s just that, you know how Speirs can be sometimes,” he said and gave Lipton a friendly nudge of the elbow.

Lipton did know, but he was too amused to cut the chase. There weren’t too many fun things around the muddy camp, and struggling forward on the soft ground was less grating with some company. “I don’t, actually, Sergeant.”

“He can be a bit, well,” Talbert struggled, drew his words on and hoped that Lipton would either take the hint or complete the sentence for him. But when he didn’t, Talbert finally dropped his clumsily tactful demeanour and said: “He can be a bit hard-headed, alright? Heard-headed and weirdly moody and obsessed with details, and I’m gonna be straight with you, Lip, I’d rather not take this report to him personally if I could avoid it.”

Lipton wasn’t surprised in the slightest. A lot of people didn’t get along with Speirs, or preferred not to interact with him personally if there was any other option, and Talbert’s easy-going and friendly personality might have been a great match with Major Winters, but Captain Speirs probably read him as sloppy and unprofessional. “Captain Speirs is a demanding officer, I’m aware,” he said.

“Yeah, let’s say that,” Talbert grumbled, but then lightened up. “But you can handle him, right? He likes you. I’d really appreciate if you could drop this report off for me, sir.”

Lipton accepted the errand without further convincing needed, and Talbert was too busy being grateful to question why he’d do it. But it wasn’t like it was much extra trouble, Lipton was probably going to cross paths with his fellow officer anyway, and if he didn’t, their tents were relatively close to each other. It wasn’t strange, just a kindness, a happy coincidence. 

Speirs was in his tent when Lipton came by. The flap of the tent was up, and the captain was sitting at his desk, a flimsy thing that had been provided to all commanding officers and that took up half of the small tent, not that the narrow bunk needed much space anyway. 

There was nowhere to knock, so Lipton stopped by the entrance and cleared his throat. 

Speirs had an ink pen in hand and was writing a letter at impressive speed, but he stopped when he looked up. 

“Yes? What is it, Lieutenant?” he asked.

Lipton lifted the file in his hand before stating his business. “Just dropping off some paperwork on behalf of First Sergeant Talbert, sir.”

Speirs’ expression didn’t change, he just nodded and made no further questions, but beckoned Lipton inside. “Sure. Come in, Lieutenant.” 

“Yes, sir.”

Speirs already had his hand extended when Lipton stood by his desk and handed the file over. He flipped it open, glanced over the report with a single wrinkle between his brows and turned it over once, finding the paper empty on the other side. He scoffed. “Only a single page for the whole week’s work? Really?” 

“I’m sure Sergeant Talbert included everything he felt was necessary,” Lipton said.

Speirs gave him a look underneath his dark brows, hard and direct. “Are you now, Lieutenant?” he demanded.

Lipton looked back. “Yes, sir.”

“You have read the report, then?”

“I haven’t, sir.” 

“Then how can you be sure of its quality?”

Lipton didn’t know when he had fallen into parade rest, but presented with a direct question that required him to raise up to answer it made him aware of how he tensed up with his back straight and feet firmly planted on the ground, slightly apart. “I know Sergeant Talbert, and I can vouch for his expertise. If he has written a one-page report, then all that was needed is a one-page report.”

Speirs stared at him for a moment quietly, evaluating him and probably his statement. His expression gave away nothing, neither good or bad, he simply looked and evaluated Lipton, then got up from the desk. He looked down at the report once again, seemingly read it over before closing the file and dropping it on his desk. 

Lipton stood where he was since he hadn’t been dismissed. After Speirs tossed the report he turned back to face him and leaned his hip against the desk, crossing his arms. The silence stretched on and Speirs kept looking at Lipton like he had all the time in the world and planned to use it. For what, that wasn’t clear, and Speirs didn’t seem to be in any hurry to let Lipton in on whatever his endgame was. 

“You vouch for your men readily, Lieutenant,” Speirs finally said, his tone neutral.

Lipton answered honestly: “I know them, sir, and so I am able to.”

“You submit their reports for them too, I see,” Speirs added, this time his tone slightly more pointed. His voice was still soft, conversational even, but it was clear he was probing for something. 

Lipton was on his guard, but there was nowhere to run or no way to avoid, besides there shouldn’t have been anything to hide. “Sergeant Talbert happened by and asked me to, and since it’s convenient, I dropped by,” he said. 

“Sergeant Talbert didn’t want to do it himself, did he.”

It wasn’t really a question, but Lipton pretended not to hear that. “It was more convenient like this, sir.”

Speirs gave a little hum, almost a scoff and regarded Lipton with hard eyes. His expression didn’t falter, nor did his crossed arms either tighten or loosen. One could have thought that he didn’t care where the conversation was going at all, even though his tone was getting stronger as he was drawing out information. “I know Sergeant Talbert finds me objectionable,” he said then, “it’s all right. The feeling is mutual.” 

Lipton didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t say anything, not even in a gesture. Speirs stared him directly in the eye.

“But you, you I see pretty often, Lieutenant Lipton. You come by often.”

That was a puzzling remark, and Lipton couldn’t quite keep it out of his voice. “You ask for me often, sir.”

“Yes, I do. But even when I don’t, there you are. You don’t have a problem with me, then?”

Something warm curled in Lipton’s chest and he had to suppress a smile. “No, I don’t have a problem with you, sir.”

Nothing changed in Speirs’ expression, but something in his eyes did. Lipton had spent a lot of time looking in his eyes which were the only giveaway when for whatever reason Speirs decided to wall everyone out. There was an intent look in them now, something strong and focused and strangely heated, something that made Lipton want to squirm – not with discomfort, but out of some sort of coyness that he hadn’t ever felt before. 

“Lieutenant, close the flap,” Speirs ordered starkly.

Lipton was moving before he even knew it, not questioning the order or wonder about it. When the flap of the tent fell, they were left in the glow of a bright lantern that made the green fabric glow.

“Come back here,” Speirs said then.

Lipton did, assuming his previous position of parade rest with his hands behind his back before Speirs who was still leaning against the desk. With the flap closed the tent felt smaller, more intimate somehow. Private. 

“Take one step closer,” Speirs said.

Lipton did, even though the movement took him too close to his captain. They weren’t quite toe to toe, but too close to be simply within conversational distance. All Speirs would have to do to touch him would be to unfold and reach his arm, which he did a moment later.

Lipton drew in a careful breath when Speirs’ hand landed on the side of his face, fingertips light like a breath on his scars. They still held eye contact like that was the only way they could actually communicate, and Lipton searched Speirs’ intently, seeing the previously detected heat burn and turn darker. Dangerous, this man was.

“You have acquired quite a few battle scars,” Speirs noted as if they were discussing the details of a report, his fingertips ghosting across Lipton’s facial scars. 

“A few, yes, sir,” Lipton replied and was surprised to hear his voice almost level if a little soft. 

“Anywhere else than here?” Speirs asked.

“Yes, sir,” Lipton said. “On my neck, on my arm, and on my – “ He realized what he was going to have to say with the words already on his tongue and what that might prompt when Speirs was brushing at the scars he could see. At the same time Lipton also realized that even though his voice was level, his breathing was off. He had taken a deep breath when he had stepped forward and that had turned into his new rhythm of rapid, deep inhales that he could hear too loud in his ear. “ – on my inner thigh, sir.” 

Speirs’ head tilted to the side in a slow arch, but his gaze never wandered or lost its focus. Lipton swallowed, fiddled with his hands behind his back some. 

“You’re such a valuable soldier. I’ll have to inspect you sometime, just to check up on you,” Speirs murmured. It could have been a threat or promise, and Lipton found himself wishing that in either case it wouldn’t be idle.

For a moment longer Speirs stared at him, held his gaze in a manner that made Lipton feel like he was supposed to say something, but then he let his hand drop and the flame went out in his eyes.

“But not today, Lieutenant,” he said, once again neutral and noncommittal, already moving on from the situation like it hadn’t even existed. “You’re dismissed.”

Once again, it was easy to follow the order. “Sir,” he hoarsely recognized before he let his feet carry himself out of the tent on automation. Chilly March air was like a sobering splash to his face after the warm tent, that Lipton only outside of it realized had smelled like Speirs.

Regardless of when it had started, it took a stark turn after that evening in Mourmelon, as did many other things. There was a vague yet constant feeling of pressure lifting. It was frustrating to just go through the motions and loiter around and train endlessly for what felt like nothing, but no one missed combat. 

They moved out from Mourmelon to Germany in April, driven in trucks through German countryside, met only weak resistance and mostly cleared towns and set up roadblocks and checkpoints. 

Lipton kept his post and continued to assist the company commander while acting as a willing link between the NCOs and the CO. 

Whatever had transpired between them in the tent in Mourmelon seemed to be gathered up and packed away with their equipment. Lipton kept following Speirs and Speirs kept requesting his presence, and even though on the surface it was all everyday army life, proper and professional, something had changed underneath.

Lipton could see it in his Captain’s eyes every now and then, how they lingered on him when they shared a Jeep, how that intense heat sometimes flared up when they were alone, and how Speirs kept favouring his personal attendance over any runner or radio messages.

Speirs kept him close, somehow more tightly than before, and Lipton let him. Something mellowed in him when the captain told him to follow or go, to join him or do something for him, and the best days were when many small errands needed doing and he got to hear the simple “come here, Lieutenant” several times. Getting to obey and please the captain felt like slipping into a warm bath, and those ordinary busy days were full of tingling contentment that relaxed Lipton’s shoulders and flushed his skin warm. Sometimes he wondered if Speirs knew what he was doing to him, and at times when he caught his keen eyes on him he was sure he had an idea.

He wondered if it really had started in Foy, and if it had been a mistake how he had simply joined Speirs by his side, close up without any reservations or backup whatsoever. Nearly everyone else sensed something strong and dangerous about Speirs and knew to stay away, but Lipton had ignored all the warning signs and glued himself to the captain’s side, ending up inside that aura of danger. Maybe it had been a mistake.

But nothing happened. Nothing was said or even hinted at, and although Lipton understood why considering they were constantly on the move and surrounded by other officers and trying to keep Easy company together and somewhat out of trouble, he was still disappointed. 

All they had was their professional familiarity, proximity by necessity, and silent looks that lasted just a few seconds too long. It felt like a standoff. 

V-E day was full of soaring relief and boundless happiness. With the help of ten thousand bottles of the finest wine and liquor, Easy company celebrated their survival and the end of all horrors for several days, sprawling into a week. 

One party seemed to simply blend into another, and even if they were technically still on duty, there was not a single sober man, enlisted or officer, willing to hold them to the regular standard. 

It was impossible to control everything in that little Alpine paradise, and even though they did keep up with the necessities such as supplies and road blocks, especially the evenings were full of wild merriment, more or less contained in the houses of the deserted town.

On Saturday new supplies arrived, and Colonel Sink hosted a party for all the officers at the extravagant hotel that resembled a lodge in a brutal sort of way. There were fine rugs on the floors, red velvet in the halls and all the furniture along with walls and staircases were dark wood with heavy decorations, but then there were stuffed animal heads mounted on the walls, creating a strange mixture of fine art and death. 

After supplies catching up with them there was good food, things that Lipton hadn’t seen in ages such as roasted meat that was served hot and crunchy vegetables. With them Champagne and liquor flowed freely and the merriment of the men kept the eerie feeling from the stuffed animal carcasses at bay and warmed the entire building. 

The doors were open, and even though the party was intended for the officers, several soldiers without bars in their collars strolled through to sample the goods. 

It was almost midnight. Lipton had been dragged along by Welsh and Nixon who had both wanted to eat and drink and show their junior officer a good time, and even though he had felt reluctant to join them, a few cups of Champagne later he was happy he had come.

Some senior NCOs came by too, and Lipton got swept into the merry group of Talbert, Grant, Moore and Liebgott who had decided to snoop around the officers’ party and maybe sneak in for a bit. They were in the middle of a playful debate about it when someone called out for him.

“Lieutenant Lipton.”

The tone was familiar and his body recognized it before his thoughts caught up, his back straightening and cheeks flushing. He turned around.

Speirs looked like he was off-duty, but just slightly. His hair was smooth and neatly kempt, he was wearing his good brown uniform jacket that had been washed, his shirt was neat and his tie tugged in, but the top button of his shirt was undone and his jacket open. 

“Captain Speirs,” Lipton said.

“Come with me, Lieutenant,” Speirs ordered promptly, ignoring the enlisted men completely, “I need you.”

“Yes, sir,” Lipton agreed right away, turned to throw one last glance at his buddies who looked back with grimaces and pitying eyes. Lipton wished he could have laughed openly at their misplaced sympathy, but that would not have been wise, and besides he had a long ago learned to feel privileged and happy with him alone knowing the captain’s true thoughts. 

He followed Speirs through the crowd and to the stairs without any further questions.

The second floor of the hotel had become almost as crowded as the first with several gambling tables and drinking games set up there. Someone had found a record player and instead of German classics that every household seemed to have was playing The Andrews Sisters. 

Speirs led Lipton up the stairs to the third floor, where the crowd was rapidly dwindling. A few men who preferred to simply converse rather than join the partying of the lower floors were sitting at the steps, and none of them paid Speirs and Lipton a single glance as they passed. A captain from another company had fallen asleep on the steps with a wine bottle cuddled in his arms and his head resting on a step. 

The third floor was deserted, and as soon as they got out of the stairs and took down to the hallway, Speirs reached behind him and took Lipton’s hand. His hand squeezed, and Lipton squeezed back. Speirs picked up his pace from a confident stroll to almost a jog, turning the corner and taking them even further from the party, then seemingly at random darting towards one of the doors. 

He pulled Lipton into one of the hotel rooms, leading him by the hand and ushering him inside, then throwing the door shut behind them. 

They were in a large one-room suite, a large, comfortable room with soft carpeted floor, antique-looking oak panelling and furniture to match. There was large hulking dresser with brass handles, a few armchairs and a writing desk with a single green-shaded lamp that was on. The windows had red velvet curtains that had been drawn, and behind the lounging area there was a bulky double bed. 

The lock clicked in the door, and Lipton was reminded of a flap of a tent.

Speirs brushed against him in a manner that could have passed for accidental, then continued his way to the writing desk that was set in the middle of the room like a space-divider. He turned around, leaned against the desk and regarded Lipton, who just now realized he was locked inside a private room with the captain whose eyes had that uncanny flame he usually hid. 

Lipton assumed the parade rest just to appease that fire.

“Lieutenant. Come here and stand before me, at ease.”

Lipton didn’t see a reason to reply, just did as he was told. He felt suddenly alert in a way he associated with field duty. 

“You are truly a valuable asset to this company. I have been very pleased with you.”

Lipton didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing. This didn’t seem to be to Speirs’ liking, because his expression hardened and he said: “Answer me when I’m speaking to you.”

Lipton felt a shudder go down his spine, a thrilled and pleasant one. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” 

Speirs relaxed again, content like a cat. “Come here.”

It felt like a small eternity when Lipton crossed the floor. His boots made no sound on the soft carpet, but each step was heavy and dragged on like he was treading in deep water, and all the while Speirs watched him, keen and shameless. 

Lipton stopped before him at a distance he would have if they were simply talking. Somehow pretending like nothing was out of the ordinary added to the tickling flame that had been lit in his belly at the first command, or even perhaps from the moment when Speirs had taken his hand.

“I promised I would inspect your condition once, didn’t I, Lieutenant?” Speirs said, playing along with the normalcy as well. He could have been giving a briefing or reporting nothing new from his patrol. 

“You did, yes, sir,” Lipton agreed, matching his tone.

“Take your boots off, Lieutenant.” 

Lipton crouched down to follow the order. His jumpboots hadn’t been this clean in a while and he was proud to have himself together, but right now they were only an obstacle to be put aside. He wasn’t about to be evaluated based on his uniform. 

One boot came loose, then the other, and Lipton took his socks off while at it, stuffing one in each boot before setting them neatly aside and standing up straight again.

Speirs was watching him still, so keenly that it felt impossible that he had glanced aside even for a second. It was an astonishing thought to consider that something so simply as taking his boots off for him gained Speirs’ undivided attention for him, and Lipton shivered pleasantly at it. 

Speirs leaned more heavily on the desk, almost a mirror image of himself back at Mourmelon in that yellow-green glow. He extended one foot forward. “Now mine.”

Lipton’s mouth went dry in an instant, but the demand in Speirs’ voice didn’t leave any room for hesitation or refusal. He crossed the polite distance between them, less and less soft carpet between them, and stopped just short from bumping knees with the captain. For a second they shared a look, Lipton’s wide-open eyes meeting Speirs’ fierce ones.

He fell on his knees. It wasn’t a difficult task to undo Captain Speirs’ jumpboots as they were exactly the same ones Lipton wore down to the same size, but just kneeling there on the floor and doing something like that for him, that was a treat. He undid the laces and pulled them loose, then grabbed the boot by the heel and the outsole and pulled it off, then peeled the sock off like he had done to himself.

Speirs helpfully offered his other foot for the same treatment, and Lipton took in in his lap to deliver. Speirs had calloused feet just like every soldier, surprisingly sleek ankles and wiry hair starkly black against his pale skin. 

“That’s good,” Speirs murmured, gently pulling his foot free from Lipton’s hold. “Now stand up and give me a kiss.” 

Lipton’s stomach did a flip at that and it took him a moment to collect himself enough to put his feet under himself again. While kneeling down he had had an excuse not to look at Speirs, but when he stood he had to raise his gaze too, and when he locked eyes with the captain again he saw his fierce eyes and mouth just a bit agape, anticipating. 

To kiss someone was a simple enough command, but with Speirs he didn’t know exactly what he wanted. He had waited for this inspection for so long while also keeping it in the back of his mind that Lipton now found himself unprepared, never having kissed a man in his life, and the list of girls kissed a short one as well. 

Speirs waited for him. He had given an order and he expected it to be followed, so he just sat there in his relaxed yet taunting manner, ready for anything and expecting the best, and suddenly Lipton couldn’t take the single-minded scourge of his eyes anymore. Quickly he leaned in close, closed his eyes and kissed his captain, at the last second avoiding his mouth and instead going for the corner of it, pressing his lips there quickly. He felt like a boy being dared, and despite how juvenile and chaste the contact was, his heart thumped in his throat. He felt a hint of stubble against his lips.

He pulled back, biting his own lip. He felt torn between having done something unspeakable but also ridiculously inoffensive, and when he met Speirs’ gaze again he saw the feelings reflected back at him.

“You can do better than that, Lieutenant.”

Even with his cheeks rosy and heated, Lipton rose up to the challenge and dived in again, his hands trembling when they came to rest against Speirs’ collar, and lips uncertain but determined when he claimed his captain’s mouth in a kiss. This time Speirs met him in the middle like he wanted to be sure he didn’t miss again, and the result was perfect. He kissed with force and passion, pressing in and parting his lips like he wanted to bite, and suddenly Lipton felt challenged. He returned everything he got, letting his desire take the lead.

“Oh…” Speirs breathed between them. It was a strange sound, a barely audible mixture of pleasant surprise and lust, the ordinary and indecent blending together in one greedy breath, and then his hands moved up to take a hold of Lipton’s jaw and the back of his neck, angling him so he could kiss him deeper. 

When they parted, they were both out of breath. Speirs kept his hands where they were, holding Lipton by his neck with his fingers idly slipping into his hair.

“Take your clothes off,” Speirs grunted.

With his hands clammy, Lipton obeyed. Speirs pushed him just at arm’s length to watch him as he did, and his gaze burned so hot on his skin that the room didn’t even feel chilly.

Lipton took off his cap and his jacket, placing both on the chair by the desk. He untangled the knot of his tie and pulled it off, then turned his attention to his buttons. Speirs’ eyes watched his fingers like a hawk, and just as predatory. He undid his cuffs, then started from his collar and moved down, undoing every button until he could slip his shirt off, leaving him in his undershirt.

Speirs said nothing, just let his eyes roam and take in everything that was bared. His teeth grazed his bottom lip briefly. 

Lipton pulled his undershirt from his trousers and over his head, sending it to the growing pile of clothing on the chair. When he moved to undo his belt buckle, his hands happened close enough to his groin to notice he was already half hard. He felt himself blushing, a bit stunned, and his fingers felt that much clumsier when he started to open his trousers. He hadn’t even noticed himself growing aroused, he had been too busy being sunken into the sweet bliss of obeying, and now that he was about to reveal his state to be observed by Speirs’ keen eyes, he almost faltered in embarrassment. 

He risked a glance at Speirs and was shocked to realize that he had already noticed, which was evident in his downcast eyes and openly yearning expression.

“Good. Good, keep going,” Speirs urged him, his voice low as he shifted rigidly, his calm façade slipping. 

Lipton pushed his trousers down and stepped out of them. On a strange impulse, or perhaps delaying the inevitable, he folded them neatly before putting them over the back of the chair. His breath was coming out short and quick now that there was only one article of clothing left. He pushed his thumbs under the elastic band of his underwear, then slowly inched them down his hips, and legs until he could discard them too. 

Speirs shifted again, almost compulsively. 

Lipton straightened up again, fully nude, skittish on his feet and his cheeks flaming, but still eager.

Speirs took a long look at him, all the way from his toes and legs up his belly and chest before finally coming back to his face. If the look in his eyes had been heated a moment ago, it was positively scalding now, and there was naked desire there.

“You are stunning,” he breathed. He moved like something had snapped, like he couldn’t hold himself back anymore, and in a second he was in Lipton’s space where he caught him in his arms and kissed him like he intended to devour him. 

Lipton gasped into the kiss and Speirs pressed in closer. He tasted faintly of whiskey and cigarettes, a strong, smoky aftertaste that Lipton didn’t mind at all.

Speirs held him fast by the back of his neck as they sunk into the rhythm of their kiss. It was like diving, sinking into the swirling depths that took your breath away and muffled all sounds around you. 

Speirs’ hands moved. Their grasp let go and they slipped on the move, strong and greedy, conquering skin and flesh. They caressed his back, warm palms kneading into the muscle and fingers stretching to draw the edges of his shoulder blades before slipping down, making Lipton curl his body towards Speirs. 

Speirs’ thumbs caught in the small dips in the small of Lipton’s back before sliding to grasp his hips, a commanding, firm hold that made Lipton give a stuttering whine and buck forward, rubbing his naked body against Speirs’ uniform, distantly wondering if he was making a mess there. The wool scratched his skin, but underneath it Speirs’ body burned hot and inviting and the man gave a low groan when their hips rubbed together, fully hard in his pants and fingers grasping tighter. 

Then suddenly, Speirs pulled back from the kiss and left Lipton blinking in confusion. He opened his eyes to meet Speirs’. 

“I want you in bed, now,” he told him. 

“Yes, sir,” Lipton breathed in return, not even noticing the title and already moving. 

They stumbled across the floorspace, Lipton backwards as Speirs pushed him by the hips, until they fell on the bed. Speirs handled him with confidence, and he found himself yielding with terrifying ease until he was almost fully on his side with Speirs pressed against him from behind, arms around him and mouth against his neck. 

Speirs hadn’t even loosened his tie, but his mouth was hot and insistent, his teeth ever present on Lipton’s neck, and his hard-on bore against his ass through the rough material of his trousers. Lipton arched back against him and earned himself a moan.

“Christ, you drive me insane,” Speirs growled against his neck, greedy hands all over Lipton.

“Uh-huh,” in a breathless grunt was all Lipton could manage. Speirs was making good of his words with his hands, stroking and palming him without restraint. His hands stroked his chest, palms curving along his muscles, thumbs nudging against his lowest rib and then stroking upwards until his fingers could circle and toy with his nipples.

Lipton squirmed and panted under the treatment, not knowing what to make of the burning touch but having nowhere to go because Speirs held him in an ironclad grasp, firmly pressed along his back. He had no other option but to lie there, belly up and held tight and take it, take all that vicious tenderness, that thorough exploration of his body, and whimper and moan. 

Speirs’ wonderful, dangerous hands pet his skin and kneaded the muscles, then stroked lower down his belly, affectionately caressing everything they touched, then reached even lower down his naval, fingers stroking through pubic hair. 

Speirs’ breath was coming in deep, concentrated puffs like he was running uphill. “Spread your thighs for me.”

Lipton shuddered and hurried to follow the command, bending his knee and pulling it up, opening his legs in a form of sharp v.

Speirs let out a shuddering sigh, a sound of admiration, and his fingers slipped on the smooth, soft skin on Lipton’s inner thighs. There was the scar, the rugged ugly reminder of a close call, and Speirs traced it carefully before lavishing the tender skin with merciless attention. “You like that, don’t you? When I tell you what to do?”

There was absolutely no reason to lie, and Lipton felt no shame. “Yeah,” he sighed.

In a bizarrely animalistic manner of affection, Speirs licked the corner of his mouth, then lapped at his lower lip. “I knew it,” he rasped, “I knew it.”

It was deliciously decadent how Speirs was still fully dressed, but it seemed that he also had a plan in mind. His hands let go of him for a second, and a few seconds later Lipton heard a pop of a metallic lid. 

Then there were fingers on him, between his legs and drawing behind, and just like that he was touched on his entrance, then inside. There was copious amount of jelly of some sort coating Speirs’ fingers, thick and warm and slippery, easing the penetration and making everything feel so so soft. 

Being fingered felt like nothing else ever. There were no words, there was no comparison, there was only this entirely new, alien feeling of his body opening, being spread open and caressed from the inside. The lubricant warmed up quickly and was so thick it didn’t leak or spill over but left him feeling tended to and wet. Ready.

Speirs had two fingers from his right hand inside Lipton and his other arm wrapped tightly around Lipton’s chest, keeping him still as well as he could. 

It was bizarre, how strong his hold was but how smooth and soft his touch was, firm and as demanding as everything else about him, but his fingers curled and caressed and made his body yield. 

Lipton realized he was making a punched-out humming sound every time the fingers pumped inside. There was something building inside of him, a heavy heat he hadn’t ever felt before, couldn’t even have imagined before this. 

Then the fingers gave one last twisting thrust, stilled and pulled out. “You can undress me now,” Speirs said straight in his ear, wet lips brushing against the shell of it.

He had to gather his wits for a moment, but then Lipton turned to Speirs. His captain looked more dishevelled than he had ever seen him, a mess he had made of him, his cheeks red and sweaty, his hair out of place and his red lips draw slightly back, revealing his teeth. 

Even with weak, trembling fingers Lipton made quick work of Speirs’ uniform, undoing button after button under his dark gaze, then pushing the shirt from his shoulders. The undershirt followed, and after that the belt was unbuckled and pulled out of the loops, the sound of leather against the rough fabric loud in the room. He pulled down the fly, and Speirs shifted helpfully when he pulled the trousers along with his underwear down his thighs and legs and finally completely off.

Speirs naked and aroused was a breath-taking sight that made his heart race. He was brawny in a wiry sort of way, strong but still lithe, his body hair was black against his skin that was flushed with arousal, and he basked under his partner’s gaze shamelessly and completely comfortable with himself. 

Lipton hadn’t even realized how he stared until Speirs broke the spell by leaning towards him again and laying a hand on his collarbone. There was no playfulness or patience left in Speirs’ gaze now, his expression was intent and greedy. “I want you back against me, back to my chest. Now,” he said, almost whispered, and without a question Lipton crawled back into his hold. 

From a storey below them the record player was playing a bright swing tune that sounded muffled in their room. It would forever be the song that played during his first time. His first time like this, his first time being taken by another man. 

It felt heavenly and striking at the same time, overwhelming in a way that threatened to turn into fear and bring him to tears, but Speirs was slow and steady, a constant that held him together through it. They breathed together and took the plunge, hands momentarily clasped together.

They fit together. Their bodies curled and rocked together, finding a rhythm as natural as heartbeat.

Lipton could only let his body chase the pleasure. He had been wound up so carefully and completely that there wasn’t a single clear thought left in his mind, he was perfectly within his body that wanted pleasure, wanted to keep winding and mounting the building heat until it would all burst into ecstasy. He had his head leaned back on Speirs shoulder, the leg he couldn’t bear to hold up anymore thrown over his thighs while his hips rocked back against the other man, his spine in an almost painful curve.

He needed something, he needed something more, something his feverish mind couldn’t quite grasp. “Sir – “ he gasped without any idea what he wanted to say.

Speirs gave a breathless groan at the title and his hips bore home more viciously. “Oh god, you’re so sweet… So, so sweet…” 

Lipton felt powerful then, in how he had lured Speirs to him, just as attractive to him as he had been to him. 

Speirs breathed into his neck, mouthing the sweaty skin and grazing with his teeth, as ravenous as ever. 

“I’ve been trying to get you alone for a month. You’re just so – oh _Christ_ – so… so…” There didn’t seem to be a word fitting for whatever he wanted to communicate, and it was like his body was trying to speak instead: he thrust harder, grinding in deep, rubbing against all the right places, and Lipton understood. 

Speirs kissed his neck and then his jaw, open-mouthed and messy. “Do you want to come?” 

Something dark flared inside Lipton’s chest, an eagerness that turned him trembling and pliant and urged him to reach behind him for the other, his hand curling around a hip as if it was possible to pull the other even closer.

“Yes! Yes, please!”

“Yes… What?” 

And damn him, there was a lucid streak in that, a wicked joy in the game, and Lipton wanted to play.

“Yes, sir. Please, sir,” Lipton cried out. 

Speirs seemed to know exactly what he needed. His lips pressed into his hairline in the back of his neck while he rolled them just so that he could press him down and thrust into him harder. His movements were rough but fluid, and finally he pushed his hand between Lipton’s legs and curled his fingers around his achingly hard cock. “Go ahead and come then,” he urged. 

It was a matter of seconds, then. Pinned down under the weight of the other, trapped between a deft hand and grinding hips, writhing and flexing and a rough command still in his ears, it was so good it almost ached, and Lipton came with a keen he muffled into the comforter. He could do nothing, only shake through his release that made his whole body thrash and tremble, and then just collapse when the overflowing ecstasy washed over him.

Speirs rode his release out with him and kept fucking him through it, keeping the high going until every last drop of it was drained and it turned into deep satisfaction. The heat finally died down, leaving behind only bone-deep warmth. 

Lipton couldn’t bring himself to move. He just lay where he had ended up, not even bothering to close his legs. He hadn’t even realized that Speirs had climaxed at some point, but only became aware of something wet dripping down the backs of his thighs, and then Speirs flopped down next to him on his back with a heavy sigh. 

It got quiet in the room. They lay side by side where they had collapsed, shoulders brushing and breathing slowly evening out. The muffled sounds of the party became clearer, music and conversation too far away to make out words with sudden bursts of roaring laughter or hollering when the mood soared or a game was won. A glass broke somewhere. The record player was playing a soft romantic tune where a sweet female voice crooned probably about an absent lover or missing home. 

With some amusement Lipton realised they hadn’t even pulled back the covers, just fallen on top of them and then been too preoccupied with each other to even make use of the pillows. Speirs’ clothes were in a bundle on the floor, and Lipton remembered his own folded over a chair by the desk. 

With a huff that had a spark of amusement over their absurd current situation Lipton rolled over onto his back, ending up pressed against Speirs’ side.

He turned to look at the man besides him, who was languidly stretched out and still basking in his own afterglow. 

As Lipton looked, Speirs tilted his head to the side to him. Their eyes met and Speirs gave him a small smile, then turned on his side to face him and lay one hand on his chest, the backs of his fingers stroking his collarbone. All that had been dark and dangerous about him seemed to have melted away, and without his uniform Captain Speirs was just a man. 

His eyes were warm and his gaze as gentle as his hand caressing his chest, but even sated and lazy he was focused. Lipton looked back, trying to understand the thoughts behind the look but coming up empty.

“Don’t be scared,” Speirs muttered.

Lipton blinked. “I’m not. Why would I be?” he asked, baffled. 

Speirs took a deep breath and smiled, satisfied with the answer. He shook his head a little, then leaned closer to kiss Lipton’s shoulder. “It’s nothing,” he said and kissed him again, then sighed so quietly that Lipton wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t felt it on his skin. “We can’t stay here for long, but give me a moment. Just a minute.”

Lipton turned onto his side to face Speirs and mourned when the hand on his chest fell on the covers between them. He didn’t like the distance in Speirs’ voice, the hinted apology and reassurances as if he needed any of it. It made him feel that all that had happened between them, not just now but everything (since Mourmelon, since Haguenau, since Foy) before was about to be left in this room, and he didn’t like it. He had gotten himself close to Speirs, across the distance and inside his defences, and he wasn’t about to be expelled now. 

Now that Speirs wasn’t touching him anymore he fixed the problem by reaching over to touch him instead, his hand ending up on his side, feeling the hard plane of the ribcage and letting his hand drift lower to the mild curve of his waist. He was soft and warm there, drying sweat and the rise and fall of breathing signs of life under his palm. 

“I’ll give you anything you want,” Lipton muttered, his hand moving from Speirs’ waist and around him, and then crawled in closer to the inviting heat of his body. 

Speirs sighed, something unreadable in his eyes, and smiled, sweet and relieved, and shook his head again even when he returned the affection and pulled Lipton into his arms. He let Lipton rest his head on his bicep, both arms around him in a secure embrace. “You are so…” 

Lipton waited for him to finally finish the sentence. 

After a heavy pause Speirs seemed to give up on it, huffed and cast his eyes down. When he looked up again, he had a spark in his eyes and he brought his hand up to Lipton’s face, smoothed a few overgrown strands of hair from his face, then curled along his jaw and pulled him into a kiss.


End file.
